


I Just Can't Let You Go

by Lonaargh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, Crying, Death, Dreaming, Gen, Grief, Hurt, Mourning, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonaargh/pseuds/Lonaargh
Summary: After Fred's death, George has a hard time moving on. It just hurts so, so much to lose half of yourself. How can anyone move on from that? (Tagged MCD for Fred's death)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	I Just Can't Let You Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xlogophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlogophile/gifts).



> *Gasp* What is this? Two new stories in just as many days? Yes! Because [ xlogophile's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlogophile/profile) birthday is coming up on Sunday! Happy birthday, love! 
> 
> So, this is not my regular fandom and there's a HUGE chance people are incredibly OOC. Please don't hold it against me too much. 
> 
> With a zillion thanks to my lovely beta (and amazing writer!), [Apollonie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollonie/profile)! :D

It had felt like someone had ripped out his own heart. And of course, in a way, that’s what happened. How else would you describe it when half of your soul, your whole being, just… dies? Every time George Weasley closed his eyes, he would see his brother’s face. Pale, bloodied. Dead. He’d never forget his mother’s anguished screams at the loss of her baby. His father’s inconsolable sobs. He’d never be able to get rid of that feeling etched into his mind, that feeling that the world should stop spinning. That everybody should stop what they were doing and just _give him a moment to say goodbye_. But that never happened. Of course that wouldn’t happen. The whole world as they knew it was at risk. What was one more casualty in the face of all that horror? Why would anyone but his family and friends care? Why would the Death Eaters care?

So he’d gotten up. Heart shattered in a million pieces, numb, tears still wet on his cheeks. And he’d gotten back in the fight, not caring if he lived or died. Because what life was worth living if Fred wasn’t in it? Miraculously, he survived.

Afterwards, there was a beautiful service. But George couldn’t remember much of it, too absorbed by his own grief and pain. All the flowers and pretty words in the world couldn’t bring Fred back, so why bother? And at first, while the loss was still fresh, everyone mourned with him. Nobody spoke Fred’s name. It was as if he had never existed. And somehow that made it easier. Easier to pretend his better half hadn’t just been wiped off the face of the earth. But as time passed, things started slowly getting back to normal. 

The first time someone had smiled at George again after the incident, he had been shocked. Appalled even. There was nothing to smile about! It hadn’t helped that the offending person had been Percy. George couldn’t even remember what it was that had made his brother smile. Probably something small, a fond memory or something equally innocent like that. But it had hurt George. He’d feigned a sudden headache and left the room, leaving a startled Percy behind.

That smile was just the beginning. People started talking about him again. Commenting on the things that had made Fred smile. Things Fred used to do that they hated back then but sorely missed now. They started saying things like ‘Fred would have loved this’ and ‘What would Fred say?’ George just wanted to scream, ‘ _Nothing! He’s_ dead _! Why can’t you people understand?! He won’t love this, he won’t say anything anymore!_ ’

George never spoke about Fred. Couldn’t bear to hear the name. It tore him apart. It was easier to just pretend.

Their… no… _his_ first birthday after the battle felt more like a funeral. Everyone cried quietly. His mother, recovering from a broken heart herself, had tried to find the balance between grief and celebration. An impossible task from the get-go. George saw the birthday cake when he came down the stairs that morning, and felt the bile rise up in his throat. This was wrong. Everything was wrong. He fled the house that day. Spent his birthday at Fred’s grave, leaning against the headstone, angry tears dripping on the marble.

Ginny was the one who found him there. Supportive at first. 

“Hey. Are you okay?”

“No.”

She sat down next to him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Did you see the cake mom made?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it? I keep expecting him to pop into the kitchen, pulling some kind of lame stunt.”

“Ginny-”

“I understand, George. It hurts.”

Fists clenched, George fought hard to not start screaming at his little sister. She understood? How could she _possibly_ understand? Instead, he just said nothing.

But then, she said the worst possible thing she could have said. Even though she probably meant well.

“I don’t think Fred would’ve wanted us to cry on his birthday.”

Something inside George snapped. He jumped to his feet, shouting. “How the _fuck_ can you know what he would’ve wanted, Ginny?!”

He saw the shock and pain in her eyes, but at that moment he didn’t care.

“He’s dead, Ginny! Dead! He’s never coming back. Ever! It doesn’t matter what he would’ve wanted or what he would’ve thought and I swear to God if anyone says something like that to me again I will… I will…”

Ginny got to her feet. “You are not the only one hurting, George!” She sobbed. “You’re not the only one who’s lost a brother!”

“He was my twin!” George roared.

“You do not have the right to make us feel bad for wanting to talk about Fred. To want to move on with our lives! Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting him, George!” They were nose to nose, matching each other’s volume.

“I don’t want to move on, Ginny! I don’t want to talk about him! I want all of this to never have happened. No amount of reminiscing and talking about him will ever get him back to me. To us! He. Is. Dead!”

“And _you_ are _alive!_ ”

“ _I WISH I WASN’T!”_

Ginny stared at him, shocked into silence.

“Ginny, I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t-” George stammered, but Ginny had turned around and stormed away, back to the house.

Nobody spoke to him when he came home hours later. Everyone avoided him. Ginny had obviously told them what had happened and they were upset. Every time his mother looked at him she started crying.

Eventually Harry came up to him. Harry. Of all people. 

He gave George one look, over those ridiculous glasses of him. “They can’t lose another brother, George. They can’t lose another son. Can’t you at least try to come back? For them?”

That was it. That was when George realized he was hurting his family. So, he started pretending. For them.

He smiled at Ron’s stupid, heartfelt jokes. He cracked a few of his own. And the relief he saw in their eyes made it bearable to pretend that he was alright.

And he got better at pretending with each passing day. By the time the first anniversary of Fred’s death came by, George was a master at faking being fine.

Angelina was his rock. She was the only one who knew, in the beginning, that he was faking it. But after a while even she thought he was at peace with it. That he was managing it. After all, he never spoke about Fred. So that must mean he wasn’t constantly thinking about him. Right?

And now, suddenly, his second birthday after the battle. How time flew when you were hurting.

Molly had been bustling around the house for days, cleaning, cooking, mumbling, keeping secrets. A surprise party was in the making. 

And sure enough, when George came downstairs that day, there was another birthday cake. Presented by… well… everyone. Everyone was there. Mom, dad, Ron, Percy, Ginny, Bill, Charlie. Almost everyone. 

He smiled. Feigned surprise. Laughed. Angelina came up and kissed him, he kissed her back. His mother hugged him, crying. “I’m so happy you’re back,” she whispered.

And he hugged her back, nodding. 

It was a day of laughter and joy. And every time someone said ‘What would Fred say?’ George nodded solemnly along before quickly changing the topic.

At the end of the day he went upstairs. To his room. Still smiling. 

“Good night, George,” Ginny said. And he wished her the same, before closing his door.

And then he collapsed on the floor. Sobbing. Muffling his anguished cries in his clenched fist. 

He crawled in bed, not even bothering to get undressed. And then he cried himself to sleep. 

~

George opened his eyes and looked around, not sure of his surroundings. It seemed to be some sort of meadow. Rolling green hills, blue skies, birds singing and flying.

“Where on earth…?” He muttered.

“Oh no, not earth, brother. I’m sorry for the soppy scenery. I didn’t pick it.”

George whipped his head around, wild eyed. “No. That can’t be.”

“That I’m even more handsome than you remember? I know, and yet, here we are.” Fred grinned back at him. Alive. He was alive!

George got up and rushed at his brother, tackling him to the ground in the biggest bear hug he’d ever given.

“You’re alive,” he sobbed. “Actually alive. I can touch you. Oh Fred, I missed you so much. So much!”

Fred just laughed, hugging him back. “I missed you too.”

George sat up. “How can you be here? I saw you! I’ve been without you for almost two years!”

“I’m not alive, George.” Fred never had been one for subtlety.

George’s smile melted away. Of course. “Just a dream?”

“Well. I wouldn’t say ‘just’. It isn’t all that easy to make this happen, you know.” Fred lightly punched him on the shoulder, smiling sadly. “But I felt it was necessary. We need to talk.”

George stared at his feet, sullenly. “About what? You’re gone, Fred. Nothing you say to me in a _dream_ will change that.”

“Wow, you’re such a doomy gloomy person now. Just for little old me?” Fred’s lopsided grin felt familiar. Warm. Like home.

Hesitantly, George smiled back. “Yeah. Just for you.”

Fred moved next to George, bumping shoulders. “Being doomy and gloomy won’t bring me back either, you know.” 

George shrugged, trying to fight the lump forming in his throat.

“And a frown looks terrible on us. I should know.” Fred put his arm around George’s shoulder and pulled him closer.

“Not talking about what happened will only make it worse,” he whispered in George’s ear. “You can’t keep this up.”

“I’m willing to bet that I can if I try hard enough.”

“Yeah, because that’s healthy,” Fred scoffed. “You’re going to have to let go of the pain, brother.”

“Why did you have to go?!” George’s voice broke, all the raw pain and grief making its way out. “Why did you have to die?! Why couldn’t I die with you?! Why… why-” He turned towards his brother, burying his head against his chest as he finally let the tears go.

“Oh, you know me,” Fred said, rubbing George’s back, “A big fan of drama.”

“I couldn’t say goodbye,” George sobbed. “I had so much left to tell you. So much that we still needed to do together.”

“We never needed to tell each other anything. I always knew what you wanted to say. I might be dead, but I still know you. There’s nothing you can tell me that I don’t already know.”

“I couldn’t say goodbye,” George repeated.

“Would that have made it easier?”

‘ _Of course!_ ’ George wanted to scream. To shout. But the truth of the matter was, that it probably wouldn’t have been easier.

“I’m not really gone, you know,” Fred added, “As long as you don’t forget me, as long as you don’t try to push the thought of me away…"

“Oh, please don’t say something corny like ‘I’m still there in your heart’.” George sighed, wiping his tears away.

“Dang, and it was such a nice sentimental touch too.”

George laughed. The first real laugh in months. Years even. He leaned his forehead against Fred’s. “I miss you,” he whispered.

“I miss you too.”

They sat together for what felt like hours. Not talking as much as George thought they would if he ever saw Fred again. They were content simply enjoying each other’s company. And bit by bit, moment by moment, he felt all his pent up anger slowly ebb away.

“It’s almost time for me to go again,” Fred said after a while.

“I know,” George answered, calmly.

“I’ll be around. Keeping an eye on you.”

“You’d better. You were always the sensible one.”

Fred laughed. “Liar.”

George pulled him in for another, last, hug.

“I love you,” he whispered. “That’s all I ever needed to tell you.”

“I know. I’ve always known, George. And I always will.”

~

George woke up, feeling like a huge load had fallen off his shoulders. A glance at the clock told him that it was 3 AM. Despite the late hour he heard voices coming from downstairs. Mom. Dad. Bill.

He slowly descended the stairs, and their conversation stopped as they all looked up at him in surprise, their eyes red rimmed. A picture of Fred and George stood on the table, winking and smiling. 

“Mom?” He said, voice trembling. “I think I’m finally ready to talk. About Fred.” And he started crying. 

And for a second, just a fraction of a second, as his mother ran over to him and held him tight, he thought he could hear Fred’s voice. “Attaboy.”


End file.
